


fiight me

by Sinderlin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:05:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinderlin/pseuds/Sinderlin





	1. Chapter 1

You sit at your computer, fingers dancing across the keyboard as you passively stare at the code scrolling up the screen. Every now and again you stop, scroll up a bit, and fix whatever error you caught just in time. You really didn't have any idea what you were trying to code at first, since nobody could commission you, and you wouldn't waste the few good computers around here on viruses. Lord knows Karkat breaks enough of them as it is. Your glasses have made a sneaky migration down your nose, so you push them back up and sit back, staring at the blank wall above the monitor. You suppose what you've been working on will end up being some stupid  
personality analyzer and imitator program. With a crack of the knuckles, you try to start back in, only to be interrupted by a sudden tug on your arm. Feferi is smiling down at you brightly, already chattering away as she pulls you out of your chair and towards the horn pile. You can feel ice-cold picks being driven into your back. Metaphorically, of course. You ignore it, practically being thrown onto the pile before Feferi cuddles up with you and continues her insistent chatter.

Only she can really stand what awaits her in dreams, you remark, stroking her wavy hair with a small wrinkle in your brow. She looks so at peace, cuddled up to you and heavy as a lead log. Your arm is going to sleep. You huff and try to pull it out from under her, only to feel that stabbing, icy stare on your back again. God damn it, you want to just toss him down the stairs and get the little douche out of your hair. Feferi would throw a fit if you hurt him, though. She's so sweet, so  
protective of everyone. You cuddle back up and close your eyes, supposing that maybe it wouldn't be all that bad and that you could use a little shut-eye.

In your dream you see the hideous wreck of events that should have been, might be. Your new girlfriend sliced in half, Karkat made into mincemeat, Tavros run through, Prospit and Derse exploding in awful, beautiful fireworks. Equius choked out, Nepeta beaten down, Vriska stabbed through the chest(that one wasn't so horrible to watch), Kanaya shot clean through the stomach, Feferi getting a hole blasted through her abdomen and falling back onto the pile you were (supposedly) lying on now. You're momentarily glad none of this ever has, or will, happen, but the last two deaths the nightmare chooses to show you catch your eye. You force yourself to relive  
them, stepping beside the victim both times. You could see a familiar snarl and shock of purple hair followed by odd, blinding white light. You scowled. Figures.

You wake up shaking and covered in sweat, though in your dream you'd felt an odd calm. Feferi is holding your shoulder and worrying over your pallor. She bombards you with questions about your dreams, lips curled into a pout and brows decidedly furrowed. You quickly regain your previous state of mildly irritated calm and reassure her with whispers and a hug. She reaches after you as you struggle off the pile, but you shoot her a serious look and she nods, sitting back. You stalk across the room to the source of the icy cold stare, coming face to face with its owner, charging straight for him and clocking him hard across the jaw. He falls out of his chair,  
sputtering. You admit, you did cheat a bit. Psionics sure are useful. Everyone has turned to stare, including Feferi. She looks even more worried. You sigh and rub your temples, waiting for Eridan to shut up and get back on his feet. He grabs your ankle and just as you prepare to kick him, Vriska pipes up.


	2. Chapter 2

"As much as I'd loooooooove to watch your little puppy-hate fight, take it outside, boys," she scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She grinned sharply, snipping out a quick, "Nobody wants to see a nerdfight," before turning back to her computer. Kanaya looks over at her with mild disdain. You suppose that's a good point, in a way. You don't want to break anything except maybe him, and nobody else needs to get involved. Just the two of you. You stare down at Eridan, blank-faced and dripping sweat from your quickly fading nightmare. He snarls at you and gets up, brushing the dust off himself like the little priss he is, and strides past you and to the transportalizer pad. "My wing," he hisses, letting his cape billow dramatically as he turns and steps onto the pad and vanishes in a flash of light. You almost laugh at how absurd that was, but manage to keep it down to a quiet snicker and a smirk. Vriska cackles and mutters "What a loooooooser~!".

You go from the computer room to the hub to Eridan's lab wing in a series of migraine-inducing flashes. You close your eyes and press a hand to the side of your head. If you weren't so full of cold hate and the urge to get payback for all the shit he's done, and what he hasn't, you would just give up and go to your wing to lie down. As it is, it looks like he wants to play hide and seek. Your shoes slap against the metal carelessly as you look about, not caring to be too careful with someone like him. You threw the first punch, so you want a reason to really rough him up. Minutes pass with no results and you start getting frustrated, taking corners too hard and nailing your shoulder, kicking any boxes you find, stomping on a rogue wand so that it snaps in half. Figures his wing would have shitty wands laying around. It looks like the path splits up ahead. You tilt your head, tapping your foot. The wood clatters away. Oh for fuck's sake...You look down, trying to remember which way the damn thing was pointing. Right? Right. Right...?

Since a clawed hand rakes across your face as you head right, past an open door, you guess you were...right. He nails you in the gut with his knee then claps his hands hard over your ears, making your aching head ring and your vision wobble and fill with white sparks. You forgot that Eridan was a seasoned FLARPer and murderer of lusii. As you lose your balance and go down, you snag a handful of his cape and make sure to bring him down with you. He yelps and puts out his hands to catch himself, so you dig a fist into his ribs as hard as you can in this state, then scuttle back on all fours. After a few long moments, the sparks fade and the ringing stops and  
balance returns. It appears that Eridan is wheezing and clutching at his ribcage, eyes locked on you. You assume that means you broke a rib or two. Score one for Captor. Score one for Ampora when he suddenly, viciously lunges over and wraps his hands around your throat. You claw at his hands and make odd, wet noises in the back of your throat as you fight for air that's so close but so far away.

"I'm flattered, but what the fuck is wrong with you, Captor? Did you just say 'fuck it" and decide to kill off the competition?" He hisses, teeth snapping close to your cheek. You could still smell the brine on his breath. The cold hatred in your belly hardened into a block of ice and you threw him off with a heavy psionic shove. He shrieked and landed on his back a few feet from you. You rubbed your throat, taking hesitant breaths. You smirk.

"You wish," you grumble, throwing your meager weight onto him and grabbing either end of his scarf and pulling. He grabbed one of your wrists with an unamused glance and twisted. You heard yourself howl as he twisted your arm around, and unconsciously tugged the scarf right off his neck with your other hand. You dropped it and lashed out, slashing two deep gashes across his cheek and lips with your claws, feeling cool blood on your fingertips. It was again his turn to howl in pain and throw you off. You lay on the floor, panting, unused to such a workout. Why weren't you just using psionics? It would be so much easier than this back and forth tug-of-war...


	3. Chapter 3

"On your knees, sol. Now," you hear him order you from above. You vaguely wonder why he's above you. You notice a rather large gun pointed directly between your eyes. Ahabs Crosshairs...Is he expecting to execute you? You laugh hoarsely and feel your stomach twist into frozen knots. Your veins are full of ice and spite and you don't know what else, but it feels amazing and exhilarating and no way are you going to stand down. If he's raising the stakes, so are you. You let psionic sparks dance along the ground in warning, grinning at him. He looks almost confused, mumbling "Sol? Are you reely-" but before he can finish you snap an electric snake in his face, cackling like a maniac and feeling like you're on top of the world. You raise yourself off the floor and he smacks you across the temple with Ahab's Crosshairs. You see him smiling grimly, and you let out another peel of laughter. You level yourself, parallel to him, feet firmly on the ground. He backs up, charging up to fire as nasty a blast as he can, and you wait with a grin plastered across your face.

You feel the air heat up and singe off the soft hairs of you arms as the blast begins, and you meet it with a psionic blast of your own, glasses sliding off your nose and clattering to the floor just in time. The whole hallway buzzes and pulses as though it were alive, shaking with a mix of psionic energy and blue-tongued blast. Ahab's Crosshairs slowly dies off in perfect timing with your attack, ending in a thin white line of light. He's shivering just as much as you are, grinning right back at you. The scrap metal and boxes stop jittering along the floor and the air slowly loses its harsh electric charge. His finger presses against the trigger again so you launch a nice big box at him with a quiet snicker, memorizing the look on his face as it hits his thigh and rolls across his hip. He falls to the floor, gun clattering away. You hover over and captchalogue it. It should make an amazing bargaining tool later, you consider with a grin. He stares at you, excitement and fear written across his face, and you pull him up and slam him against the wall with a flick of your wrist. The sickly cracks you hear should be another couple ribs, maybe  
an arm. He's still smiling at you, though, and you pause in confusion.

Oh. Ohh. Now that you're just hanging in the air, you can feel it. You continue to stare at him, though you feel immensely more uncomfortable now that you realize what the jerk is smiling about. You're slowly piecing together what all the feelings and sensations this fight have been dragging up could mean. Your thin cheeks are flush with yellow and you snap at him,"Oh, shut up. You were only there," you rationalize, narrowing your eyes. His smile grows, teeth sharp as daggers and white as ivory.

"We both know it's more than that, Sol. You feel it," He nearly whispers the last few words and you fight back the shivering tingle that rolls down your spine. The dark glint in his eyes tells you he does, in fact, know exactly how you're feeling. The smug bastard always thinks it's always about him, doesn't he? Thinks he's some kind of god-given gift to trollkind. His huge ego pisses you off, in oddly...the right ways. You shake the thought away with a snarl and surge beside him, wrapping one hand over the front on his face, pulling his head forward and bashing it back against the wall. You need that smug smile to turn back into that angry, scared grimace, you needed to stop this game. His head rolled down onto his shoulder, eyes momentarily blank. He blinks and thrashes against his psionic bonds with an expression of pure rage.  
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YA THINK YOU'RE DOIN?" He shrieks at you, unable to focus his eyes quite right. You sigh, and lean back. He stops thrashing and squints hard in your direction. "You don't wanna believe it, is that it? That you wanna? With me?" He laughs and you want to wring his neck but that just makes your pants feel tighter and ugh you want to shut that asshole up, you need to shut him UP-...Yessss...


	4. Chapter 4

He's breathing hard and focusing entirely on your strained smirk, he doesn't even notice the red-blue glow sparking along the ground. Soon metal and glass shards float in the air around you, sharp tips ready and waiting. He doesn't even finish blinking before they slice across his skin, leaving long weeping gashes in his clothes and body. He's breathless and it's almost beautiful. Royal purple slides down his body and you want to TOUCH him, you want to touch yourself so badly it hurts. You pull him from the wall with slender fingers wrapped in his shirt, eyes flicking from red to blue at a seizure-inducing rate. You shove him back against the wall and pull him back again, indecisive and desperate. He's leering at you and snarling, blood dripping from his lashes like tears and glistening on his lips. You can't help yourself; you drag your tongue firmly across his lips and nip at them. You jerk back, wiping your bloodied hand on your pants and slamming him back against the wall with psionics. He wheezes, eyeing you tiredly. You lower yourself down until your feet tap lightly onto the floor. You take a subtle side-step back down the hall.

"It's been fun, but I gotta run. Have fun licking your wounds, cA," you mutter with a forced smug smirk and take off down the hall, letting him slide down the wall at last. You can hear him cussing and punching the wall. You guess you're the one that got away, you think, and almost laugh. You're back in the main hub in a flash and take your pad back to your wing and lock up the transportalizer pad once you're through. You're aching and walking oddly by the time you get to your "private time" room.  
You don't think it's "paranoid" to also lock the door to the room once you're in. It's a fairly good, familiar, comfortable setup. ...a desk and a swivel chair. And of course, a bucket. These things are vital for a maturing troll, you remind yourself as you undo your belt and slide your pants and boxers down your skinny thighs. Oh, sweet, sweet relief...You seat yourself at the desk, running one palm up the length of your aching bulge. You shiver and moan, swinging a leg up onto the desk. You slide the other hand along the inside of your thigh, trying to remember every detail of the perfect, spiteful faces Eridan made. You rub two fingers up against the entrance of your nook, feeling the hot, wet space between your thighs. You slide them in, clenching at the wrong-but-so-right feeling it gave you. You take your hand off your bugle and yank open a desk drawer, pulling out a tube of lube and flicking open the cap and squeezing out just enough to slick yourself up before shoving it back into the desk.

You grab your bulge a little too hard and pump quickly, timing it with the thrusts of your fingers. You moan and buck into your hands, unsure why you can't stop picturing Eridan's piercing stare. Before you even realize, you have to stop and quickly yank the bucket out from under the desk, feet planted on the floor and leaning over the desk. You stroke yourself roughly and press your face into the cool metal, gasping as the sound of the bucket filling echoes through the room. You quietly recover, softly groaning and breathing shallowly. You grab the bucket and haul it to a chute you found in this room that goes to you don't have any idea where and dump the bucket.  
You return to the chair and flop back limply, wondering if Eridan was "licking his wounds" right about now.


End file.
